HISTORICAL SKETCH OF PITTSFIELD.

By FRANK W. KAAN.


We were changing cars about midnight at Rotterdam Junction, New York,
for the Fitchburg Railroad connection. "You might know we were near
Boston," said a passenger. "See what a comfortable car this is." "Yes,"
remarked a middle-aged gentleman, "I've been away for three weeks, and I
never want to leave Boston for so long a time again." And he gave a sigh
of relief. No doubt many highly enjoyable smiles were called forth by
this innocent confession. Yet the sentiment found an echo in our hearts.
But a North Adams man spoke up rather sharply, "Well, Berkshire County
is good enough for me." The incident has a deeper meaning than appears
at first glance.

Going westward on the Boston and Albany, a heavy up-hill grade is
reached at Chester. The rest of the way lies in a country of hills. A
pleasing prospect meets the eye in every direction. There is nothing
sublime and majestic to inspire the mind and exhilarate the spirits, but
the steadfast, sober hills and the quiet valleys in nature's soft colors
are restful alike to body and soul.

We cross a branch of the River Housatonic, _alias_ Ousatonac,
Ausotunnoog, Awoostenok, Asotonik, Westenhok, and the train stops before
a large, handsome brick station, once the "best in the State," now
restricted to "west of Boston." A broad street on the left leads to the
park in the centre of the town. Here is the Berkshire Athenæum, with its
excellent public library, where we must stay long enough to glance
through the town history, compiled by Mr. J.E.A. Smith.